


Way Down We Go

by ashtraythief



Series: Underneath 'verse [14]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, Hurt Jared, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, POV Outsider, Undercover, Violence, non-graphic mentions of medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 19:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtraythief/pseuds/ashtraythief
Summary: Jared gets shot. Jensen does not handle it well.





	1. Way Down We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp in the Underneath verse. Set about a month after Turned Around and second part of the No Lines Trilogy. Title from Kaleo’s Way Down We Go which I listened to on repeat while writing the first draft of this. It just fit.  
> Many thanks for interstitial for medical advice! It’s still probably not realistic at all but that’s on me. Many, many thanks to keep_waking_up for brainstorming, hand-holding and all kinds of support and to ilikaicalie for her wonderful beta work. A big smooch of thanks to masja_17 for last minute polishing!

 

The night air was cold and clear. Jared took a deep breath. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d had a few drinks and the alcohol was making him a little slow.

Jensen was laughing, dragging him along by his hand toward their car waiting behind the club.

“C’mon babe, you promised me frozen yogurt.”

Jared rolled his eyes, but a warm feeling spread through his chest. Jensen’s late-night cravings for frozen yogurt had become a staple of their nights out and Jared found it adorable—up until Jensen started moaning around spoonfuls of raspberry topped yogurt. Then Jared’s feelings turned much more carnal.

His willingness to indulge Jensen’s cravings was as much about giving Jensen what he wanted as it was about watching him indulge in his complete and utter hedonism, which always promised Jared a very good ending to his night.

“I did,” Jared said, not speeding up and feeling Jensen’s weight tug at his arm. “And you know that I always keep my promises.”

Jensen’s answering grin was downright filthy—he was undoubtedly remembering the promise Jared had made him right before they’d left for the club.

“Then how about we hurry this up?”

Jared had just opened his mouth to answer when the muffled whoosh of a silenced gun pierced the night. Someone hit him in the chest—probably trying to get him to safety—but Jared was too busy reaching for his gun and pushing Jensen toward the car. No one was hurting Jensen.

He scanned the alley, caught sight of a hat-covered head behind a far-off dumpster, and fired. Jensen was grabbing at him, probably trying to get him behind the car, but Jared had a clean shot. The guy ran down the alley, chased by Jared’s and Chad’s bullets.

“Abel, Rosey,” Chad bellowed, and they gave chase immediately.

“Clif, help me,” Jensen shouted, his voice harsh and clipped, his hands reaching for Jared.

An ice-cold fist clenched around Jared’s heart. He turned to Jensen, scanning him for injuries. “Where?” he asked, his hands reaching for Jensen and finding no purchase. “Where were you hit?”

“Jesus, Jared,” Jensen said, putting a hand to Jared’s face while his other slid over his chest. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. But you need to calm down, babe. I got you, okay? I got you.”

“What?” Jared asked, but somehow his voice came out slurry and far away. “What are you talking about? Where did the fucker shoot you?”

Jensen’s eyes were so wide and so green and so close. “Jared, he didn’t shoot me. He shot _you_.”

Strong, broad arms wrapped around Jared as someone half-dragged, half-lifted him into the car. Jensen helped, hauling him inside and then pulling him against his body. As soon as Jared was sitting, vertigo hit. Dark spots danced across his vision and a dull, throbbing pressure spread through his chest. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Dammit,” Jensen bit out. “Where the fuck…” His hands ran frantically over Jared’s back, jostling him painfully. Jared’s muscles convulsed when Jensen’s hands found the wound.

“Fuck.” The short-lived agony brought a rush of consciousness with it and Jared realized he was probably going to pass out any second. He might even die.

“Jen…”

“Don’t talk,” Jensen said in the same harsh voice he’d used to order Clif around. Then he slid his hand under Jared’s shirt and pressed down on his ribcage.

Sharp, fire-hot pain shot through Jared’s chest and right shoulder. “Motherfucker!”

“Sorry,” Jensen said, but he didn’t sound like he was.

“How does it look?” Chad asked from somewhere on Jared’s left.

“No exit wound,” Jensen said. “We need to get him to a doctor _now_.”

“I'm calling Richings.”

“Winston, step on it,” Jensen shouted, then his mouth pressed against Jared’s temple. “Hold on, okay? It’s gonna to be okay. The doc will take care of you.”

“Chad.” This was important.

“It’s me, Jensen.” Jensen’s voice was quiet, urgent.

“Chad,” Jared repeated, feeling his hold on consciousness slipping.

“I’m right here, Jay.” Chad put a hand on Jared’s uninjured shoulder.

“You take care of it,” Jared pressed out, trying to breathe through the crushing pressure between his ribs.

“I will,” Chad said darkly. “I’ll find the motherfucker and I’ll hang, draw, and quarter him.”

Jared reached out blindly until Chad took his hand. Jared pulled with the last of his strength.

“Jensen…”

Chad took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, Jay, I got him. But if you think we’re gonna let you die, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Jensen’s “Damn right, you bastard,” was the last thing Jared heard before he lost consciousness.

 

Beeping. Hushed voices arguing. Jared forced his eyes to open, blinked against the bright light.

Chad. Misha. Sam. Chad was muttering harshly; Misha looked doubtful, and Sam worried. Jared couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying.

Harley and Sadie were standing at the end of the bed, looking at him with wagging tails. Harley barked.

Misha looked over at him and caught his eye. He said something to the others and they all approached the bed.

“Jay, are you awake?” Chad asked, and Jared wanted to tell him yes, but everything went dark.

 

Jared woke. Beeping. The room was dark, but he wasn’t alone. Someone was snoring. Jensen. But Jensen didn’t snore.

Jared forced his head to move. In the dim moonlight shining through the window, he could see Mike sprawled in the armchair. At his feet, Harley and Sadie were sleeping pressed together in a way they hadn’t since Jared had brought Harley home from a shelter as a young puppy.

Jared moved his hand, searched the mattress. He was alone in the bed. He fell asleep again.

 

Beeping. More hushed voices. A needle in his arm. Jared tried to bat it away and a calm, cultivated voice told him not to move. Doctor Richings. He’d be fine.

Where was Jensen? Jared tried to speak, but someone lightly touched his shoulder.

“Not yet, Jared.” Misha. That was Misha. “Soon,” he said calmly. “For now, you need to rest. But when you wake, you’ll get to see the fire.”

Misha was cryptic as always, but Jared didn't have the energy to scold him for it.

 

Something was niggling in the back of Jared’s mind. A beep. Regular, quiet. Almost familiar. Annoying.

Jared forced his eyes open. He was lying in his bed, in his bedroom. He turned his head to the right and found the source of the annoying noise: a monitor.

It all came back to him, a series of blurry, disjointed images.

The night at the club. Jensen begging for frozen yogurt, the gunshot, the hustle to the car, Jensen’s worried face, Chad’s promise. People whispering in his bedroom.

Jared turned his head to the other side. Chad was slouched in the armchair by the window, his mouth open, breathing regularly.

Chad was here. So were his dogs, lying on the floor next to his bed, Harley asleep, Sadie chewing on a bone. She looked up at him, dropped the bone and whined. She clearly wanted to come up, but his dogs were too well behaved to get on the bed without invitation.

Jared looked around again, but there was nothing of Jensen in the room. Jensen’s bedside table was empty and there was no sign he’d slept in their bed.

Fuck.

“Jay?”

Chad was awake, ungracefully climbing out of the chair. He checked his phone. “Man, I doze off for like ten minutes, and that’s when you decide to wake up.”

Jared moved his hand to the edge of the bed and wagged his fingers. Sadie pushed her nose against his knuckles and happily licked his hand. “How long?” he asked Chad, and his voice came out raspy and dry.

A shadow passed over Chad’s face. “Two days. You lost a lot of blood, but the doc managed to fix you up.”

He reached for the nightstand and passed Jared a bottle of water. Gratefully, Jared took it but despite his thirst, he drank carefully. Two days. Fuck.

Jared put the bottle back on the nightstand and tried to sit up and sharp pain shot through his right shoulder and chest.

“Whoa, easy there.” Chad put a hand on Jared’s shoulder. Jared glared at him, but Chad didn’t pull his hand away. “Doc ordered you to take it easy.”

Jared stared Chad in the face and Chad stared right back.

“That bad, huh?” Jared asked.

Chad huffed out a breath and pulled back. “We thought you were fucking dying, man.”

“We?”

Chad shrugged and made a hand motion that was probably supposed to encompass the house. “We. The family. Your dad stopped by too. I should call him.”

No mention of Jensen. Jared swallowed. But he needed to know. He didn’t want to think Jensen would bolt anymore, but Jensen wasn’t there.

“Where’s Jensen?”

Chad straightened up, pulled his shoulders back. Opened his mouth and closed it again.

“What?” Jared asked sharply. His hands balled to fists.

“I’ll text him.” Chad paused, then shook his head. “Your boy is a scary son of a bitch. I’m glad you didn’t die, Jay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jared asked, but Chad was already on his phone, calling Doctor Richings.

Bitter relief spread through Jared. Jensen hadn’t left. But he wasn’t here. Then Sam appeared, herding the dogs away from the bed and bringing more water and a steaming bowl of something that smelled like chicken soup.

“Take it easy,” she said, but Jared was already falling asleep again.

 

When he woke the next time, it was to Doctor Richings sitting by his bed, taking his vitals. Sam hovered behind him like a mother bear. Harley and Sadie sat outside the bedroom door, clearly unhappy with being banned from the room. The beeping was finally gone.

“So how am I doing?” Jared asked.

“As well as can be expected,” Richings said and peeled the big white bandage from the side of Jared’s chest. “The wound is healing nicely. However—and I cannot stress this enough—you need to rest.”

“I know, I know,” Jared grumbled.

Richings’ brows pulled up, furrowing his already wrinkled skin even more. “I don’t think you do. You lost over a liter of blood. Your heart stopped. Your right lung collapsed when it was pierced by the bullet. I had to perform a thoracotomy on you in my office.”

Richings didn’t raise his voice once, but the severity still came across in his careful enunciation and the sharp edge of his voice.

“You need to rest,” he said again. “No strenuous activities of any kind.”

Jared nodded. “Thank you, doc.”

Richings inclined his head. “I’ll be back daily to check on you until I deem it no longer necessary. Until then, lots of fluids and _rest_.”

It was only then that Jared shifted and noticed the tube.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked.

Richings was unfazed, but he immediately knew what Jared meant. “Bed rest. For today. You’re still weaker than I’d like.”

“No.” Jared shook his head. “I’m not going to piss through a fucking tube.”

Richings rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you collapse on the way to the toilet to preserve your precious manhood, you have been warned.”

“Duly noted,” Jared said and clenched his teeth. This was going to suck.

 

When Richings was gone, and Jared had returned from his successful trip to the bathroom on shaking legs and sat back down on the bed, he turned to Sam. She was still hovering in the doorway.

“Where is he?”

Jared needed answers, now.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam shrugged but avoided his eyes. “An errand. He didn’t give me the details.”

“I get shot and he’s running errands?” Jared asked incredulously. A slow, dark rage was starting to simmer. He hadn’t had the energy to be angry so far, hadn’t had the time to think about how one of his enemies had dared to have him assassinated in a fucking back alley. Now that he was on his feet—sort of—he would deal with that. As soon as he found out why the fuck Jensen wasn’t here.

Sam’s face hardened. “How dare you? You know that boy loves you more than anything.”

“Then where the fuck is he?” Jared shouted.

His heart was beating wildly. He clenched his fists, trying to calm down. This was not the time to let his anger take over, but he was fucking livid. He was here, in his bed— _their_ bed—with a fucking hole in his chest and Jensen was _shopping_?

Sam recoiled. “He didn’t tell me,” she said quietly. “But your phone is right there.” Then she turned and left.

Fuck. Jared reached for his phone, but his thumb hovered over the screen. He wanted to call Jensen, wanted to yell at him for not being here, wanted to shake him and kiss his lips bloody, but he didn’t know what was going on.

Jensen wasn’t there, and Jared’s hands shook with the kind of helpless fury that he’d felt so often around Jensen in the beginning, when Jensen still had one foot out the door, when he’d left, again and again. Jared had thought he’d finally settled down. Maybe he’d been wrong the whole time.

“Whatever did that poor phone do to you?”

Jared snapped his head up. Jensen was leaning insouciantly in the doorway. He was wearing the expensive gray boots he’d made Jared buy him just three weeks ago, one of his impossibly flattering pairs of jeans that showed off the enticing curve of his bowlegs, and a soft-looking gray sweater. His hair was carefully styled and his stubble artfully trimmed. Standing there, he looked like he was posing for the cover of _GQ_. Usually, Jared would appreciate the view, but now he wanted to ruin it. He wanted to throw Jensen on the bed and make him beg until he cried. But Jared wouldn’t even be able to walk to him right now.

“It was quiet, for one thing,” Jared said, forcing himself to stay calm. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.”

Jensen nodded. “Chad’s going to be back in a few; he’ll fill you in.” He didn’t move away from the door.

“Did I catch leprosy with that bullet or is there some other reason you're all the way over there?” Jared tried to make it sound like a joke, but his voice was too cold and too sharp. He knew that his power and his physicality had always appealed to Jensen; in the beginning, Jensen had definitely stayed because of the sex, because of how Jared was able to manhandle and dominate him. And now, when he was weak, Jensen was staying away from him.

Jensen tilted his head, eyes hard and calculating. “Are you pissed at me?”

With sudden clarity, Jared knew exactly what Jensen was doing. He might as well have raised his tail and arched his back. Jensen was gunning for a fight. Jared just wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t have the patience for it either. If Jensen wanted this to end because he couldn’t handle it, he’d damn well have to say it.

“Damn right I am,” Jared bit out. “I know you’re not the caring kind, but I thought when I got shot you’d at least sit at my bedside.”

Jensen’s eyes tightened to thin slits. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed. “You really think I don’t care?”

Jared inhaled carefully, ignored the pain in his chest. “You weren’t here.”

“You were unconscious,” Jensen shot back.

“I was awake enough. But you were never here.”

Jensen took a deep breath. “I was here until Richings declared you stable.”

“And then you were hit by the sudden urge to go shopping?” Jared asked snidely.

Jensen’s eyes narrowed. “Thin ice, Jared.”

Jared let out a harsh laugh that made him feel like his lung was about to tear apart. “What, can’t handle the truth?”

“I can handle the truth just fine, but I won’t let you insult me because you’re angry and need to take it out on someone.”

“This is not about me. This is about you, you faithless, flighty little—”

“Don’t.” Jensen’s face was ashen. His whole body was tense and his jaw was clenched so tight that Jared could see the muscle in his cheek twitch. “Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.”

And Jared didn’t. He’d seen Jensen angry plenty of times, had seen him so furious that he was ready to walk away, but he’d never once seen him _shaken_.

“How can you even think that?” Jensen’s voice was strained, almost breathless.

Before Jared could say anything, Jensen whirled around and walked out. He slammed the door behind him. Jared strained to hear, but it was quiet. Just when he thought Jensen had tiptoed away from the room, the door shook slightly and he heard Jensen walk away.

Fuck.

 

Jared was still mulling over his fight with Jensen when Chad came in ten minutes later.

His face was stormy and he shot Jared a disapproving look. “Dude, what did you say to Jensen?”

“How about we ignore Jensen’s hissy fit and you bring me up to speed?”

Chad’s eyebrows shot up. “I see.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And no.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, I won’t let you take your anger out on Jensen. What happened was no one’s fault. I’ve gone over it a thousand times in my head and there was nothing we could have done.”

Jared narrowed his eyes, took a shallow breath to calm himself—deep breaths still hurt too much. “Okay, so who was it?”

At that moment, Chad’s phone rang. He answered, listened, then looked at Jared. “Wick is on the phone, wants to talk to you.”

T.S. Wick was the second biggest heroin dealer in the city and their relationship was strained, to say the least. Wick had taken over another dealer’s turf without Jared’s permission, and although Wick had eventually paid Jared a succession fee, they weren’t friendly. As a matter of fact, Jared always had a close eye on Wick because he knew the guy would try to screw him over as soon as he could. He had no idea why Wick would be calling him now.

Jared took the phone. “Yeah.”

“Mr. Padalecki,” Wick said tensely. That man always sounded like he was on the edge of jumping at your throat. “I hope your recovery is going nicely.”

“It is,” Jared said, making sure his voice was steady. News of the shooting getting out was unavoidable, but he’d be damned if he’d show any weakness now.

“Good. I have the information you want.” Wick’s voice was clipped. He wasn’t happy about having to make this call.

“That’s great.” Jared put Wick on speaker and gave Chad a prompting look.

“Guy who shot you,” Chad mouthed almost inaudibly.

“Yes, it is,” Wick said coolly. “According to my sources, a man called Thomas O’Leary hired your assassin. I was told you’ve had dealings with him in the past.”

Thomas O’Leary. That fucking piece of shit coward. When Jared had wiped out his entire family three years ago, the fucker had fled the city in the dead of night with his tail between his legs, leaving half his crew behind without even a thought of fighting back. He’d always been the weak link in his family; Jared was actually surprised he’d dared to come back.

Chad gestured to get his attention. “We already know,” he whispered.

Jared focused back on Wick. “I did indeed. And I already know it was him.”

“Of course you do,” Wick said dryly. “Your boyfriend’s been a busy little bee.”

“Watch your mouth.” The reprimand was reflex, but Jared wouldn't tolerate anyone taking that tone while talking about Jensen.

Pause. Then, “I apologize.” Wick sounded like he was swallowing a pack of nails. “Though I have to say, I do not appreciate his mode of communication.”

Jared shot Chad a questioning look, but Chad just grinned sheepishly.

“Well,” Jared said, “he’s a thief. They do things a little differently.”

“I am aware. I just want it noted that I did my best to assist your investigation.”

“Noted,” Jared said. “I appreciate it.”

“So we’re good?” Wick tried to hide the apprehension in his voice, but he wasn’t entirely successful.

Jared thought he could throw him a bone. “We’re good.”

“Excellent. And if you ever need any other information... just call,” he added slightly exasperated.

“I’ll do that,” Jared said.

Wick murmured something too low to hear clearly—though it sounded suspiciously like “fuck you”—then he hung up.

He turned to Chad. “O’Leary?”

Chad’s face went grim. “We got eyes on him right now. He’s got no idea, and we’re just waiting for your word on how to execute the fucker.”

Jared nodded, dark satisfaction twisting in his chest. He’d enjoy ripping that weasel’s heart out. Then he looked back down at his phone. “And what the fuck was that?”

“Ah.” Chad leaned back slowly, mouth pursed regretfully. “We had some initial difficulties finding the guy who shot at you—and by that, I mean it took us longer than it took the doc to fix you up. So when Jensen was finally assured you weren’t gonna die and wanted to know where we were at, and we didn’t already have the guy in custody, he kind of… well, there was a lot of yelling involved.” Chad made a face at the memory. “It wasn’t pretty.”

Anger reared inside him and Jared balled his fists. “How about you finally tell me what the fuck is up with Jensen?”

Chad sighed. “Jensen is… when we thought you were dying, he was here. Refused to leave your side the whole day. Sam had to bring him a shirt so he wouldn’t wear the one with your blood on it. And he went… quiet.” Chad rubbed his chin. “It was worrying. I didn’t know if he was going to break down crying or tear the place apart.”

Something soft and warm was calming the boiling rage inside of him, but Jared wasn’t satisfied. “And then?”

Before Chad could answer, his phone rang again. Chad checked the display, then grinned. “Andrew, yes, he is awake now.”

Chad handed the phone over and mouthed “Almighty Souls.” Another surprise. Andrew was the current leader of one of Chicago’s nastiest street gangs. Jared usually didn’t deal directly with the gangs; they had a loose understanding not to mess with Jared’s business. Occasionally they collaborated on a big score, which allowed them to keep face when they split the take with Jared (something that could otherwise be called protection money). Jared understood and played along, because his cuts from these ventures were always respectful enough. But he didn’t talk to them, and they certainly didn’t call him.

“Andrew, what can I do for you?”

“You know exactly what you can do for me,” Andrew spit out. “You can cut the bullshit. I don’t appreciate being threatened.”

“I would never threaten you.”

“Oh, so that little note was just a fucking love letter, right?”

Chad nodded so Jared said, “That’s all it was,” shooting Chad a glare. He really hated being in the dark.

“Sure it was.”

“Well, what’s your answer?” Jared asked, moving the conversation forward.

“My answer is that I have no idea who took a shot at you.” He sounded really pissed.

“And you have no information about it whatsoever.”

“None,” Andrew bit out.

Jared stayed silent. He’d found that it often unnerved people more than threats.

Andrew huffed. “But my boys told me there’s someone new moving in up north. Going in with the H.”

“Interesting.”

The O’Learys had always had strong connection to the heroin cartels.

“There’s a new player there, some Irish guy. Apparently some of the locals are working with him.”

“O’Leary,” Jared said softly.

“What?”

“That’s his name, O’Leary.”

It took Andrew a moment to make the connection, then—“Shit.”

Jared smiled thinly. “Exactly. Now, as you can imagine, I’m very interested in who would make deals with someone I chased out of this very city just three years ago.”

“I have nothing to do with that shit.”

“Of course not. But I know you have contacts there. How about you make inquiries? Quietly, of course. I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Silence, then—“I will. But you tell the fucker who snuck into my bedroom that next time a motherfucking cobra will be waiting for him in my bed.”

Jared looked at Chad who mouthed “Jensen.”

“Ah,” Jared said softly. “I have to apologize. My boyfriend has different methods of doing business than we do. Thieves, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard about him,” Andrew grumbled. “And I respect the concern of a loved one. But now that you’re awake, you keep him out of my house.”

“Of course,” Jared said. “Jensen doesn’t have a reason to break into other people’s houses as long as he’s with me.”

Andrew scoffed. “Right. I’ll call you.” Then he hung up,

Chad shook his head. “Jensen really has a way of pissing people off.”

“Chad,” Jared bit out. “I need answers, now.”

Placatingly, Chad raised his hands. “I was just about to tell you. So, Jensen was sick with worry, then Richings declared you stable,” Chad said. “And Jensen asked who shot you. I told him we were still looking and he told me we weren’t looking hard enough.”

Well, that did sound like Jensen.

“Now, I couldn’t have stopped him even if I wanted to,” Chad said, “and before you bite my head off, I would like you to remember that you have never stopped Jensen from doing something he set his mind to either.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Well,” Chad amended, “I didn’t stop him anyway. He just took over our investigation. Got a whiteboard and everything. Looked like a cop board, almost, but he said it was how he planned his heists. Anyway, we ran down all the data, everyone who could’ve done it. We had to ask around for info and a few people were not exactly going out of their way to be helpful. So, Jensen wrote them letters. And he hand-delivered them. Broke into their houses and left them on their pillows. A few were pissed about the break-in, but I reckon most got the message that we could murder them in their sleep if they didn’t cooperate.” Chad laughed, disbelief in the sound. “I mean it worked on Wick and Andrew. And you should have heard Avari on the phone.”

“The forger?” Jared asked. Avari wasn’t on his payroll, stubbornly independent, but because his product was so good, and it wasn't in competition with his own guys, Jared let him be.

Chad nodded. “Jensen apparently sent him an extra detailed note about how happy he is with you and how sad he’d be if your relationship was impaired. And how Heyerdahl had impaired your relationship.”

Jared raised his eyebrows. “That worked?”

“Yeah,” Chad said. “Apparently Avari and Heyerdahl go way back. I had no idea, but Jensen knew something about that. Anyway. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have found the guy without Jensen, because I would have, but he did speed up the process.” Chad hesitated. “He was scary out there, Jay. Determined. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Jared wasn’t really surprised. “Well, he’s nothing if not stubborn. Don’t underestimate him because he likes to shop and drink champagne.”

Chad shook his head. “I don’t. But Jay, you didn’t see him. It was like he was ready to burn down the whole world just to find the guy who shot you.”

“And yet, he’s not here.” Jared was still furious about that.

Chad huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, he’s pissed at you.”

“He’s pissed at me?” Jared asked incredulously.

“Hey, you did almost die,” Chad said jovially and stood. “I’m pretty sure he’s sulking downstairs. I’m gonna see if I can get him come up here.”

“What about O’Leary?” Jared needed to know the details.

“He came into town a few months ago,” Chad said, “but he used a front man. He made some money on a few backdoor deals, but we’re still figuring out his operation. Andrew’s intel might be helpful there. Now, I know you want to make an example of him,” Chad said. “The question is just how big.”

There was no leeway here. Someone had tried to assassinate him. This was more than disrespect; this was a declaration of war. He hadn’t thought anyone would dare anymore. His hands balled into fists. He’d become too lenient, too forgiving. Now people weren’t cooperating, giving him lip? Fucking trying to assassinate him? There was a time when everyone had known that his word was law. Apparently, they needed to be reminded. “Call Mike and Misha. Tell them to bring their favorite toys.”

Chad’s grin was dark. “You got it.”

“And the guy who shot me?” He needed to be an example too. No one raised their hand against him and got away with it.

“Ex-military with a lot of medical debt.”

“Is he dead?”

Chad shook his head. “Kept him alive for you. We caught him two states over and dragged him back here. He didn’t want to cooperate, so Jensen took it upon himself to play crazy cop to my bad cop.”

Jared’s eyebrows shot up.

Chad grinned. “What can I say, we make a good team. Not that I had planned to bring him, but he wouldn’t stay away. And he was good. Scary good.” Chad stood. “To be honest, I didn’t think he had it in him. But I’m glad he’s on our team. I’m gonna go get him.”

Jared nodded and Chad disappeared out the door, leaving Jared alone to ponder Jensen. Jared knew Jensen had a hardness inside him. He hid it under his art and his clothes and the champagne but Jensen could be ice cold. He could make the hard decisions. Jared had seen it, again and again, every time Jensen had left because he thought staying was too dangerous. And even though Jared knew Jensen loved him, there was still this tiny part of him waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jensen to pack up and leave. It didn’t help that Jensen still kept a getaway pack stashed hidden in the closet. That same part had no trouble believing Jensen would dump him because of his injury. And now that Jared was weak and bound to his bed, there was nothing he could do about that.

Rationally, Jared knew he’d lashed out because he felt weak. The thought of Jensen interrogating the shooter and terrorizing the city for information should be soothing. But Jared didn’t want Jensen to be the one to save him. He was the one supposed to be in control. He’d fought long and hard to keep Jensen happy and safe by his side. Jensen was his challenge to master, his prize to win. Now, everything was upside down. Jared needed to right the world again. Starting with Jensen and ending with O’Leary’s corpse.

“You done accusing me of being a piece of shit?” Jensen’s harsh voice caught Jared off guard. Fuck. He hated when Jensen snuck up on him.

“Can you blame me?” Jared asked.

Jensen scoffed and didn't move from his position in the doorway. “Yeah, actually. I thought we had some trust going on, but apparently I was mistaken.”

“Sweetheart, you know that’s not true. I do trust you.”

“Then why—”

“Because you always have a foot out the door,” Jared said angrily. “Don’t think I don’t know about your getaway pack or how you hoard money all over town like a squirrel preparing for winter. And you’re paranoid about keeping the bike at least halfway gassed up.”

Jensen paled, but he didn’t flinch back. He never did.

“Both our lives are dangerous and we could have to run from the cops at any time,” Jensen said quietly.

“And that’s all it is?” Jared asked.

“What else would it be?” Jensen asked.

Jared huffed. “I don’t know. But then how would I with all the secrets you're still keeping?”

Jensen’s cheek twitched. He walked into the room and sat down next to Jared on the bed. “Being ready to run is second nature,” he said quietly. “I stash money because I need to be independent. And you know everything about me that’s important.”

Jared opened his mouth to protest, but Jensen pressed a finger to his lips. “And when you were dying, I was furious. I was fucking livid. You’re invincible. You’re the boy king of Chicago. You rule this town and you do it well. Your people are the best in the business. Every criminal in the U.S. knows your name, and they fear and respect you. And yet, some fucking second-rate assassin got to take a shot at you?” Jensen’s eyes were glinting. “What the fuck crap operation are you guys running here? You’re supposed to be the best!”

“Jen,” Jared started, but Jensen got up and began pacing.

“No. See, when you were dying, I was _worried_.” Jensen spat out the word like it was a disgusting disease. “I sat here, by your side, watching you struggle to stay alive and had to imagine what it would be like if you died. And guess what: I didn’t like it!”

“Neither would I!”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jensen glowered and it was a sight to behold. “I thought you were dying, you asshole, after all this—” Jensen’s hands flailed. “After you chasing me so hard, after all the threats and the mistrust, and after digging into my secrets, and then I finally—and after all of that you just die on me? Are you fucking kidding me?” By the end, Jensen was shouting and he looked ready to pull his hair out.

It made something warm spread through Jared’s chest. Jensen wasn’t one for big declarations of love. Jensen was thorns and sarcasm and needling. Jensen was pushing and pushing back; he was reluctance and hedonism.

Seeing Jensen like this, losing it because he was worried—Jared couldn’t help but smile.

Jensen was seething. “Be glad you’re still in pieces or I’d wipe that fucking smile off your face.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Jared had meant for it to come out teasing; he’d forever blame his weakened state for how soft it sounded.

And Jensen—Jensen just crumbled. The tension and anger bled out of him, and he looked at Jared, face cracked open. For a moment, it was all there: the worry and the love and the fear. Then he got a hold of himself, and his face morphed into that amused fondness Jared knew so well. But it was good to know what he was hiding underneath.

“If I had known what it would take for you to say that, I would have shot you myself,” Jensen said with a grin and came to sit down on the bed again.

“I tell you all the time,” Jared said and reached out to take Jensen’s hand.

Carefully, Jensen laid down on the bed, scooting up to Jared’s good side.

“You really don’t, you know,” Jensen said quietly.

“But you know I do.”

“Yeah, but it’s still nice to hear it every once in awhile. When we’re not fucking.”

Jared huffed out a laugh, which was still very unpleasant. “It’s not any less sincere then.”

Jensen snorted. “You’re a terrible boyfriend.”

“And yet you’re here.”

Jensen was quiet for a moment, then he squeezed Jared’s hand. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m glad you are,” Jared said. “Now tell me what you wrote in those letters that has all my associates frothing at the mouth.”

Jared thought that Jensen would laugh or at least snort, but his voice was hard as steel when he answered. “I did what I had to.”

“It worked.”

Jensen snorted. “Yeah, well, we already found the bastard. And the guy behind it.”

“I know. Chad filled me in.”

Jensen turned his head to look at Jared. “So what are you gonna do?”

“What do you think?” Jared asked, watching Jensen’s face carefully. Jensen hated this part of the mob business, hated the killing.

But there was nothing but dark joy in Jensen’s face. “Good,” he said, “I want to watch.”

Jared pressed a kiss to the crown of Jensen’s head, inhaling a whiff of the familiar scent of his shampoo. “You got it, baby.”

 

Later, when they were lying in bed together after Jared’s first real meal in two days, the dogs happily back in the room and Jensen as close to Jared as possible without putting pressure against his chest, Jared traced Jensen’s mouth with his fingers. “How did you get the guy to talk?”

“Your would-be assassin?” Jensen asked with disdain.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t torture him, if that’s what you mean.”

“You didn’t?”

Jensen snorted. “Torture doesn’t work. People will tell you whatever you want to hear to make it stop. So I had Aldis get me all his personal information and then I read it out loud. His sick mother, his family, even a guy who served with him in the military.” Jensen’s voice was cold, detached.

“I told him torture can be stopped, but killing your loved ones, well, that pain never ends. It’s nothing that will heal. Seeing the person you love bleeding and hurt, not knowing whether they’ll live or die, it’s unbearable.” Jensen looked up at Jared with hard eyes. “After that, he told me.”

Carefully, Jared took Jensen’s hand and put it on his chest over his heart. “I understand.”

Jensen scooted closer. “I didn’t. Not really. Not until two days ago.”

An unfamiliar tenderness filled Jared’s heart and he brushed a kiss against Jensen’s forehead.

 

It took four days for Doctor Richings to declare that Jared might not immediately collapse upon leaving the house. During that time, Jensen didn’t leave Jared’s side. They watched movies—Jensen delighted in picking old mob movies and asking Jared if he’d done something like that before—they read in companionable silence, and they played Scrabble. Jared was good at it, but he still had the sneaking suspicion that Jensen was letting him win. Jensen was there when he made his way down the stairs, and while Jared sat outside catching up on his company, Jensen threw balls for the dogs and chased them around the yard.

While Jared was laid up, his people prepared to take down O’Leary. They knew where he was, but if Jared wanted to show up there, they had to take a lot of precautions. Security cameras had to be disabled, car switch points prepared, and a team gathered. Since Jared was on bedrest, they had the time to plan thoroughly. And Jared planned to take advantage of it.

But after four days, Jared was done waiting. Jensen protested, but Jared wasn’t going to wait any longer. Every day he didn’t retaliate showed weakness.

 

Jensen insisted on showering with him. Not that it was the kind of showering Jared usually enjoyed, because Jensen had declared nothing strenuous included sex of any kind. His wound had been cockblocking Jared for four days now and he was done with getting to look but not touch.

“I’m up and walking,” Jared said and reached for Jensen.

Jensen swatted his hands away. “How about this; if you make it through today without breaking a sweat, I’ll blow you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Jensen sighed, but it sounded fond. He gave Jared a kiss before reaching for the shampoo and lathering up Jared’s hair.

After the shower, Jared dressed carefully. A sharp charcoal suit, no tie. His third-most expensive watch.

As always, Jensen went with jeans. He paired them with a dark green henley and his black leather jacket. After combing through his hair with a little gel, he once again looked like a runway model.

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s.”

 

It was dark when they reached the warehouse. It belonged to one of Jared’s dealers—no connection to him, of course. The shooter was sitting in a cell at the back. He looked to be in his late thirties, sensible haircut, straight set of his shoulders. John Shelby was former military to a tee. He gave Jared a stoic look.

“So, you’re the guy who took a shot at me,” Jared said. “Not too good at your job, are you?”

Shelby didn’t react. Then his eyes flickered to the side where Jensen had stepped up next to Jared. Shelby swallowed visibly.

“I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or proud that you think my boyfriend is more dangerous than I am,” Jared said lightly. After Jensen’s confession, he didn’t feel any of the bitterness he had before.

Shelby’s eyes widened in surprise.

Jensen snorted. “It’s 2011. Even the mob is getting with the times.”

Jared couldn’t help but smile at Jensen’s annoyed tone, but he had business to take care of.

“You know,” Jared said amicably. “If you’d come to me and told me you had the name of someone who wanted me dead, instead of shooting me, I would have helped you out with those hospital bills.”

Shelby squared his shoulders. “I assume you’re not going to let me live now, are you?”

Jared quirked his lips. “What do you think?”

“I gave you O’Leary.” Shelby swallowed. “Will you at least spare my family? Please, they’re innocent, they—”

Jared shut him up with a punch to his face. “You should have thought about that before you agreed to kill me.”

Jared stepped back, reaching for the gun in his shoulder holster. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Jensen, pulled as tight as a bowstring, hands buried in his jacket pockets. It cost him, but he held the gun out to Jensen.

Jensen eyed it for a moment, then shook his head. “This is yours.”

Jared appreciated that. He turned back to Shelby and put two in his chest.

“Are you really going to kill his family?” Jensen asked quietly.

“No,” Jared said and re-holstered his gun. “I’m not a monster.” Then he turned to Mike. “Mike, you know what to do.”

Mike nodded. He’d take the corpse, dig out the bullets, chop off the hands, clean it with bleach and fire, leaving no traces or DNA on the body, and then he’d dump it in one of the criminal hotspots. Everybody would know that you didn’t survive if you tried to mess with Jared Padalecki.

Then, they would take care of the rest. It was time to remind Chicago who was running this town.

 

On the drive home, he had Chad give him an update. Everything was ready for tomorrow. Usually, Jared would take care of business immediately, but he felt himself getting a little tired. The fucking bullet wound was still affecting him. Then again, executing O’Leary in broad daylight would send an even stronger message than doing it in the dark of the night.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jensen. His face was carefully blank.

Jensen had said he wanted the assassin dead but seeing a man get killed—that was different. Then again, he’d been fine when Jared had killed Heyerdahl. But Jared needed to make sure.

“You okay?”

Jensen’s head whipped around. His eyes were intense, almost manic, but Jared couldn’t tell why.

“No.” Jensen let out a hollow laugh.

Fuck. “Jensen, he—”

“It’s not about him,” Jensen said harshly. “I don’t give a fuck about him. I—he tried to kill you.” Jensen shook his head. “He tried to kill you. He deserved it.”

“They why…?”

Jerkily, Jensen dragged a hand through his hair. It was such a rare gesture on him, raw and agitated, the sort of thing he usually hid behind his suave, master thief facade. “You—I can’t—” He licked his lips in annoyance. “I’ll be okay after tomorrow.”

Jared didn’t ask whether that was because the killing would be over or because Jared’s enemies would be dead. Instead, he reached for Jensen’s hand.

Jensen looked down at Jared’s hand and huffed out an exasperated, “Jesus.” But he took it anyway.

 

At home, they had a drink while the dogs frantically crowded around Jared’s legs.

“They were worried,” Jensen said, eyes soft while he patted Harley’s head.

Jared rubbed Sadie’s ears and leaned down to press a kiss to her head. “I’ll take them on a nice long walk tomorrow evening.”

Jensen’s eyes scanned him, a small crease appearing between his brows. “Yeah, we should go to bed now.”

Jensen was too smart to outright say that it was Jared who needed rest, but it rankled anyway. He was getting tired but he was _fine_. And Jensen had made him a promise.

For the first time since he’d gotten shot, the dogs didn’t get to sleep in their bedroom. But they never had before and it was time things went back to normal.

They went through their pre-bed routines quickly. Back in the bedroom, Jensen reached for the hem of his shirt, ready to undress for bed.

“I remember you promised me something if I could make it through today without breaking a sweat.” Jared slowly opened his belt.

Jensen turned and regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I changed my mind.”

Jared raised his eyebrows.

Jensen slowly laid his hands on Jared’s chest, then slid them up over his shoulders and around his neck. “I think you can handle a little more.”

Jared grinned sharply and reached for Jensen but Jensen quickly stilled his hands. “Not that much.”

Jared wanted to protest but Jensen went up on his tiptoes to kiss him. “Let me.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, Jensen took Jared’s clothes off, mindful of the bullet hole and the larger incision on the lower side of his ribcage. Jensen’s hands were gentle but sure, and when Jared was naked, Jensen gave him a little nudge. “Get on the bed.”

Jared sat down carefully propped against headboard and pillows and then watched Jensen take his clothes off. Jensen’s movement were deliberate and sensual, and Jared hungrily tracked the lean but defined muscles of his shoulders and arms, the hints of a six pack under the soft skin of his belly, the subtle cut of his hip bones, and his strong thighs. His dick was already hardening and Jared couldn’t wait to watch Jensen come all over himself.

Jensen kissed him, deep and thorough, and by the time he finally sank down on Jared’s dick, Jared was getting lightheaded. Jensen was hot and tight as he rode him, slow and careful.

“Touch me.”

Jared raised his hands and dug his fingers deeply into Jensen’s hips, leaving round bruises on his pale skin.

Jensen leaned forward and touched a hand to Jared’s cheek so tenderly that Jared couldn’t bear it. He shoved his hips up harshly, angling them to hit Jensen’s sweet spot.

Jensen didn’t look away. He didn’t close his eyes once, kept them trained on Jared’s face. Jared had killed a man, right in front of him, and Jensen hadn’t batted an eye.

“I want—”

Jensen leaned down and kissed Jared. “Let me do this for you. Just—I got you.”

Jared’s orgasm came out of nowhere and left him shaking and woozy. He barely noticed Jensen riding out his aftershocks. Distantly, he was aware of Jensen climbing off his lap and cleaning him up. He tried to keep his eyes open, make sure Jensen had come, but then Jensen curled up against his uninjured side.

“I got you, babe. Sleep.”

And Jared did.

 

The next morning, Mike and Miner took out O’Leary’s lookout and then they waited until the news of the dead assassin reached O’Leary. Through the scope of a sniper rifle, Jared watched O’Leary’s face crumple in fear. He started spewing frantic orders, his cheeks blotchy red and his hand fumbling with the gun at his belt.

Jared grinned. “We should probably go in there before he shits his pants. I don’t want to deal with the stink.”

Chad laughed and ordered their people to move in.

Jared had brought his entire inner circle and a handful of Mike’s best people. Jensen had wanted to come, but Jared didn’t want him here. This was his job, not Jensen’s. And what they were going to do would draw a lot of attention. While Jared was confident they wouldn’t leave any evidence the Feds could use, Jared wanted Jensen somewhere in the city with lots of cameras and credit card receipts. Willy had driven him into the city and Jared had ordered Milo to shadow him. Until this was over, he wasn’t taking any chances.

His people didn’t have any trouble rounding O’Leary’s men up. They had scattered all through the warehouse, but none of them made it outside. O’Leary himself made a dash for one of the side doors, but Miner was there to stop him. Her smile was positively gleeful as she pressed the end of her shotgun into his back and herded him to the middle of the hall.

Jared was waiting for him. Most of O’Leary’s men looked afraid enough, but a few wore calculating expressions, as if there might be a way out. Had Jared lost his edge? Did they not know of his reputation? It was really time to set an example. In the back of the warehouse, Misha was already getting things ready.

“O’Leary,” Jared said slowly, enjoying the man’s fear. “I never thought I’d have to say that name again.”

Somewhere, O’Leary found his backbone. “You killed my family. Did you really think you’d get away with that?”

“I already did.” Jared smiled. “And I thought you’d have crawled off somewhere to die of shame. I’m never going to make that mistake again.”

O’Leary raised his chin. “I thought you would understand. A man wants to get revenge for his family.”

“Oh, I do understand. I just didn’t expect it after you ran away with your tail between your legs three years ago.”

O’Leary shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta bide your time.”

Chad snorted. “Didn’t really work out for you, did it?”

“I don’t know,” O’Leary said. “I feel like it puts us on even footing. Restores my rep.”

Jared stepped up close to O’Leary, forcing him to look up and feel all five inches Jared had on him. “Even footing?”

O’Leary made a throwaway hand motion, clearly aiming for casual but he shuffled back a little. “Even enough to go into business together.”

The audacity. “You must be fucking kidding me.” Jared gripped him by the collar. “You’re a cowardly little worm, and when you finally manage to come back, you send a second-rate assassin to do your dirty work.” Jared twisted his hand and O’Leary gasped as his shirt collar bit into his throat. “You always take care of your own business.”

“If you kill me,” O’Leary weezeed, sweat gathering on his forehead, “you’ll miss out on a giant business opportunity.”

Jared laughed, and his people laughed with him. “Money? You try to kill me and you think you can get out of this with _money_?” Abruptly, he shoved O’Leary back.

O’Leary stumbled and barely managed to catch himself before he landed on his ass. “It’s millions!” His voice trembled. “And it’s legal. The Feds will have squat on you.”

“The Feds have squat on me anyway, you pathetic piece of garbage.” Jared pulled his gun. This vermin wasn’t worth his time.

“Please, hear me out,” O’Leary stammered, but Jared just raised the gun.

“No one takes a shot at me and gets away with it.” He pulled the trigger.

O’Leary clutched his stomach and stumbled to the ground. His men watched, some in horror, some in resignation.

“Mr. Padalecki.” The man they’d identified as O’Leary’s second-in-command spoke. “We didn’t know about the attempt on your life. He assured us that everything was aboveboard with you. We would never disrespect you.”

He might be telling the truth. Then again, he was O’Leary’s right-hand man. Not that it mattered.

“I wiped out the O’Learys three years ago. Did you really think I’d allow one of them back here?”

“We thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Jared said coldly. There was no room for mercy here. He turned to Chad. “String them up.”

O’Leary’s men yelled until Jared’s people duct taped their mouths. O’Leary himself just groaned weakly, a puddle of blood pooling next to his belly.

Misha wove around them, carrying two canisters of gasoline and drawing glistening, pungent patterns on the ground. One of Mike’s men followed him around with more canisters. His expression was uneasy, but Misha paid him no mind. He just occasionally reached for a new canister and continued his strange dance.

“Should we let one of them go?” Abel asked.

Incredulously, Jared turned to him. “Should we _what_?”

Abel swallowed. “I just mean to tell the story. So people know what will happen to them if they mess with you.”

Chad chortled. “You’re adorable.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Mike, show Abel how it’s done.”

Mike opened his duffel bag and pulled out a long hunting knife. “Find me a pillar, kid,” he said to Abel as he approached O’Leary. “We’ve got work to do.”

Jared turned to Chad. “You wanna get creative?”

Chad grinned. “You know me; I’m a regular Shakespeare.”

Mike looked back at them over his shoulder and smiled. “Guess I’m gonna need a bucket then too.”

Jared shot O’Leary a final look, then he waved to the guy who would drive him out of the warehouse district to where Winston was waiting. It was time to go back to the office to build an alibi and wait for the inevitable FBI visit.

 

Jeff Morgan was rudely woken by his cell phone.

“Yeah?”

“You gotta come in. Now,” Alona said.

Shit. Jeff sat up and rubbed his face. Well, it had only been a matter of time until shit hit the fan.

No one was talking when Jeff entered the task force’s meeting room. Usually, Whitfield and Evans from Organized Crime would sit off to the side, discussing the case. Occasionally Steen from Vice would join them. The two youngest members of the task force—Wester from Vice and Detective Buckley from the Chicago PD—talked baseball, and Rhodes from Homicide discussed FBI and Chicago PD overlap with Detective Sanford. Since the whole Blair debacle—they’d lost her trail at the Canadian border—Rhodes hadn’t been assigned a new partner. Even if she had been, Jeff didn’t want anyone new on the task force.

Today, the entire task force was present, but instead of the usual chatter, the room was eerily quiet. They’d worked around the clock since they’d heard Padalecki had been shot. But they’d gotten nowhere. No one was talking. The city was waiting with baited breath to see if the boy king would survive and how he’d come out of it: weakened or with righteous fury.

Alona had tried contacting Ackles, but they’d only received a text saying that he was busy and would call his beloved sister later. Jeff assumed Ackles had spent the last week sitting at Padalecki’s sickbed. Maybe they’d actually get lucky and he’d die.

Yesterday had been the first day a few CIs had reported speculations. The first few days, Padalecki’s people had searched the city, but after the man himself didn’t retaliate, the whispers of the boy king’s fall began circulating.

Judging by the tense silence in the room, something had changed overnight.

“Things are happening,” Detective Buckley said and jerked his head toward the big screen.

Up on the screen was a crime scene picture of a slightly burnt corpse.

Jeff perused the picture, aware of all eyes on him. The burning wasn’t bad enough to be Collins’ work, so it must have been to counter forensic measures. But there was something else about the body—Jeff leaned in.

“Are the hands missing?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Detective Sanford answered. “My guys found him this morning. He was dumped in a back alley close to a drug dealing hotspot.”

“Which means by now every criminal in the city knows,” Alona said grimly.

“We’ve seen this before,” Jeff stated. “Can we assume this is Rosenbaum’s work?”

“We think so,” Sanford said.

Jeff sat down at the table. “So Padalecki found the guy who shot him.”

“I’d say so,” Sanford said and pushed a coroner’s file over to Jeff. “John Shelby, honorably discharged from the military five years ago and up to his ears in his mother’s medical debt. The family doesn’t know anything, but I assume he was working as a gun for hire.”

“If he was,” Whitfield said, “Padalecki is just getting started. If someone wanted to make a play, Padalecki is going to annihilate them.”

“Agreed.” Rhodes leaned forward over the table. “He’s been shot in his own backyard; he has to show strength now.”

“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Sanford said.

“Then we have to find out who hired Shelby to kill Padalecki. If we find the guy who ordered the hit, maybe we’ll manage to catch Padalecki’s guys red-handed.” Jeff shot Alona a look. She’d have to call Ackles immediately.

“Yeah, but we have to hurry,” Whitfield said. “If Padalecki has already killed and displayed the shooter like that, most likely he knows who’s behind this.”

“But why would he announce it to the world?” Buckley asked. “He’s only giving the guy time to run and hide.”

“He’s scaring him,” Steen said. She pushed a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. “And he’s showing everyone that he’s got the situation under control. Maybe he already caught the guy, who knows. We’re gonna find more bodies soon.”

“Alright,” Jeff said and grimly wondered why the fuck Ackles hadn’t contacted them. “Let’s get to work.”

 

The explosion happened in broad daylight. While Jeff and the task force were pouring over the papers, the Chicago PD detectives had gone to question everyone John Shelby had talked to in the last two weeks, and Whitfield and Evans were off to question Padalecki about his whereabouts last night, a warehouse in the north blew up. They moved out immediately.

They had to wait until the fire department declared the building stable. Rhodes was talking to Dr. Devine, the medical examiner. She was a short, round woman with dark, cropped hair, perfectly groomed and dressed in an immaculate pantsuit as always. Jeff had dealt with her before and he appreciated her unshakeable attitude.

Jeff walked over to them. “How many bodies?”

“I haven’t been allowed inside yet, but they tell me at least ten.” Dr. Devine pursed her lips. “There goes my weekend.”

The chief of the fire brigade, a gruff-looking older man, finally emerged from the building. “Assistant Director Morgan?”

“That’s me.” Jeff showed his badge.

“I’m Chief Hennings. Follow me.” He turned back towards the building. “It’s an old structure so it took us a while to secure it. A lot of the ceiling beams came down. But I’m guessing you want to see the crime scene as is.”

“We do.”

Hennings nodded. “Now, I assume you’ve seen some shit in your time but I’ve never seen anything like that in there.”

Morgan exchanged a look with Rhodes, then waved to the rest of the task force to follow him. The warehouse was filled with the smell of smoke and, under it, the stink of burning flesh. They filed into the building through a small door.

“Motherfucker,” Rhodes said.

“I think it’s going to be a while before I can do my job,” Dr. Devine commented dryly.

Chief Hennings shook his head. “It’s a regular execution.”

“How did they even get them up there?” Wester asked.

In the rafters of the burnt-out warehouse, ten bodies dangled, limbs twisted and blackened by the fire. On the ground were blackened, soggy remains of wood and stillages.

“Were they alive when the fire started?” Jeff asked.

Chief Hennings gave him a grim look. “We’ll have to wait for Dr. Devine’s report but my gut says yes. Look at that poor bastard over there, his fingers are still stuck under the rope.” He shook his head. “Fucking mob.”

“What makes you think it was the mob?” Jeff asked.

“They weren’t subtle,” the Chief said. “They left a message.” He whistled and a young firefighter jogged over to them. “Is the back secure?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Then show the Assistant Director what we found. Dr. Devine, you can go with them; there’s another body in the back you can get started on right away.”

The young firefighter turned to Jeff. “Assistant Director, huh? Well, I guess this is important enough to get your attention.”

Jeff huffed. “Just show me what you found. Steen, with me.”

The kid—because she couldn’t be a day older than twenty—sobered up. “Yes sir.”

She led them through the building, navigating water puddles and broken beams. The ‘back’ turned out to be a second storeroom which was mostly intact. A few people from the crime scene unit were taking pictures of another body. He was bound to a pillar and mostly untouched by the fire. There was a pile of something dark lying at his feet and Jeff shot Dr. Devine a questioning look.

The medical examiner stepped closer. “I’d say they made him spill his guts.” She put her bag down. “I’m going to get started with this one.”

“I wonder why he’s different,” Steen said. “Maybe he’s the leader?”

“Yeah.” It had taken him a few seconds, but Jeff recognized the man. “That’s Thomas O’Leary. Three years ago, Padalecki killed his entire family. He was the only one who survived and he’s been in hiding ever since.”

“Guess he should have stayed there,” Steen said.

He really should have. Then again, something this big might just net them an arrest. Jeff was certain Padalecki had taken care of this personally.

“Steen, make sure we get every surveillance camera in a two-mile radius. Padalecki did this himself, and if we can place him at the scene of the crime, we got him.”

“Will do.”

Jeff turned back to the firefighter. “Now, what did you want to show me?”

“This way,” she said and led Jeff through the door next to the big rolling overhead door.

“There it is,” she said when they stood outside, pointing at the closed roll gate. “This is like something from a movie, you know? Kinda cool.”

Jeff stepped away from the building and pulled out his phone. He couldn’t stop staring at the rolling door. “Alona, get me a location. I need to talk to him _now_.”

In thickly smeared rusty red, someone had written the words _LONG LIVE THE KING_.

 

Usually, The Turning Pages managed to distract Jensen. In the overflowing stacks, he always found a hidden treasure, deeply engrossing or simply so curious he couldn't stop reading. Today, it didn’t work.

Jared had texted him a while ago, saying that he’d gotten another FBI visit at his office and that Jensen shouldn’t hurry home. He wanted Jensen out of the way while he dealt with the fallout. By now, the FBI probably knew about O’Leary too and the agents would try to question Jared as long as they could.

Jensen hadn’t minded. He’d welcomed the time to himself, to get his thoughts straight, to find some kind of equilibrium. It just didn’t work. He put the book on unicorns and the AIDS crisis down and just dragged his finger along the old, cracked spines in the used books section.

People were dead, and he was looking for books. He buried a hand in his pocket, fiddled with his phone. But it was too late now. Jared and his people had already— _executed_. Jensen forced himself to think the word. And they were still at defcon one, as Chad had called it, meaning Aldis was still living on coffee and orange energy drinks and monitoring all relevant communication. Now that Jensen was in the city and Milo was waiting outside the store, having a smoke, Jensen might be able to steal someone’s phone. But it was pointless. It had already happened. So he scanned books.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Jensen almost toppled a stack of Pern books over. “Jesus fuck.”

Behind him Morgan was glowering at him. He was dressed in a leather jacket and a ball cap but he was wearing slacks. Straight from the office, Jensen would guess.

“You need to leave right the fuck now.” Jensen turned back to the shelf.

“You wish. We need to talk, _now_.”

“Milo’s trailing me,” Jensen hissed and walked around the end of the shelf to bring himself into the line of sight of the door while keeping Morgan out of it. “He’s right outside. Why do you think I haven’t called? I haven’t had a second to myself this past week.”

“I know, but this is our chance. He just wiped out the competition. There has got to be evidence. And you can bet he got his hands dirty.”

Jensen snorted. “Of course. He always kills traitors himself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, did you see him kill John Shelby?”

Jensen hunched his shoulders. “Yeah.”

Morgan stared Jensen down through a gap in the bookshelf. “You saw him shoot John Shelby? You were there?”

Jensen tensed. “There was nothing I could have done to save him.”

“You could have called it in!” Morgan hissed. “We could have caught him red-handed with a corpse!”

“There was no time!” Jensen had to stop himself from shouting. “I started to text you the address, but then he was dead. And I didn’t feel very confident you’d get there in time because, guess what, if you got there late, they'd figure out I was the one texting the FBI, because the only phone I had was the one Jared knows about. And then we would have had jack squat again and I’d be running for my life.”

“You—” Morgan started.

“No. They’ve been on defcon one since Jared was shot, _all_ communication is being monitored.”

Morgan’s nostrils flared. “He shot Shelby last night. You had an entire night to tell us he was going to go after O’Leary. You could have found a way.”

“It was too dangerous!”

“Do you know what he just did? He killed eleven people. Eleven! And it was too _dangerous_? You jump from skyscrapers, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, and when I do that, I do the prep for the operation myself and I’m not reliant on your dumpster fire of a task force!”

Morgan slammed a hand against the shelf. “You should have told me!”

“I made a judgment call!” Jensen picked up a big illuminated edition of _The Silmarillion_ to hide his face behind. “You’ve fucked up every operation one way or another, and I’m supposed to trust you with my life when they’re on high alert and you only have a few hours to put something together? I don’t fucking think so.”

“That is _not_ your call to make.”

“The hell it is. When we take him down, it’ll be on my terms, with my plan. Because it’s my fucking life on the line here.”

“Watch your tone!”

Jensen glared through the stacks. “Hey, you wanted Campbell. Now you’ve got him.”

“You’re an asshole, Ackles,” Morgan said, expression hard. “And your life is not the only one on the line here. I have to go talk to Sergeant Shelby’s mother and tell a woman in hospice that her son was murdered.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have become an assassin for hire.”

Morgan opened his mouth for an undoubtedly furious retort, then he stopped. His thick eyebrows drew together and his dark eyes bore into Jensen. “Ackles, did you not call this in because you think Sergeant Shelby deserved to die?”

“Of course not,” Jensen bit out. And he hadn’t. His finger had been hovering over the send button when Jared offered him the gun. And then it was too late.

He hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t. There had just been a moment, in the beginning, when he’d seen the shooter for the first time, and instead of seeing his face, he’d seen Jared with his skin ashen and eyes closed, a thin plastic tube feeding oxygen into his nose while Doctor Richings opened his chest to extract the bullet.

“Look,” Jensen hissed, trying to banish the picture from his mind, “It was a judgment call. I had a choice to make, and considering your track record, I decided to play it safe. When we take him down, the plan has to be solid, not a spur-of-the-moment thing, and you know it. And I’m the only one who can finish this.” Jensen swallowed, trying to get his breathing under control.

Morgan’s eyes were hard and unblinking as he scanned Jensen’s face. “Will you?”

“What?”

“Will you finish it?”

Morgan didn't need to say it. Jensen knew what he meant. He clenched his jaw. “I’ll finish it.”

Morgan huffed out an angry breath. “Good. But I’m not waiting for you to come up with a plan. Tal and I are working something out.”

“Great,” Jensen bit out. “What’s the play?”

“We’re still hammering out the details.”

Impatiently, Jensen looked to the door. He’d already lingered too long. “Then give me the general idea.”

Morgan just put a phone on the bookshelf between them. “Alona is gonna text you the relevant details as soon as it’s done.” And then he turned and left Jensen alone.

Furiously, Jensen took the phone and hid it in the new scarf he’d bought before he’d gone to the bookstore. It only occurred to him when he got into Willy’s car that Morgan had never answered his question.

 

When Jensen came home, the house was quiet. The dogs didn’t rush in to greet him. Jared must be upstairs then. Ever since he’d been shot, the dogs refused to leave his side. Jensen didn’t mind.

Quietly, he made his way upstairs. Harley and Sadie were dozing on the rug in front of the bed. They blinked at him in greeting but didn’t move from their spot. Jensen patted their heads as he walked past. He found Jared in the bathroom, washing his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and in the mirror, Jensen could see the wounds from the bullet and Riching’s procedure, still red and held together by surgical sutures.

Jensen knew that twelve people were dead. Twelve lives, gone. Jared and his crew had murdered twelve people. Had executed them in cold blood. Jensen knew he should care about that. But all he could think about was the moment bright red had bloomed on Jared’s shirt. When Jared had collapsed unconscious against his chest, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. When he’d flatlined in Richings’ office. When Richings had cut open Jared’s chest and pulled out a bullet. When he’d said he couldn’t promise that Jared would make it.

Everything after was a haze. Jensen knew he’d screamed, knew that Rosey had carried him out of the room. He knew he’d forced himself to calm down to be with Jared, knew that Sam had made him change clothes. But nothing was... clear, sharp, until Richings had declared Jared stable. Then, Jensen’s rage had formed, a red-hot line guiding his steps in one direction: toward the people who’d done this.

Twelve people were dead. Twelve criminals. Jared was alive. And Jensen was fine with that.

Jared reached for a towel and dried his face. “I’m okay,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“And you?” Jared asked, watching Jensen carefully. “Are you okay?”

Jensen knew what he meant. Twelve people were dead. One of them had only tried to pay off his mother’s hospital bills. But Jensen didn’t care because Jared lived. So no, Jensen was not okay. He was not okay at all.

He stepped up to Jared and carefully put a hand on the wound. “Never do that again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Jensen looked up at him, at the face that he knew better than his own. Eyes a color Jensen still hadn’t been able to determine, guarded and hard most of the time, glinting with heat when they went to bed, and sometimes soft with love when no one but Jensen was around. An almost delicate nose in sharp contrast to broad cheekbones. A wide mouth that could form a thin, unforgiving line or a sunshine smile with youthful dimples.

Jensen knew all of it, knew every expression, every mood. And Jensen Campbell would do anything in the world to keep it.

“Marry me.”

Jared went very still, as if Jensen’s words would dissipate if he moved.

Jensen’s hands dug into Jared’s shoulders. What the fuck was he doing?

“Marry me,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. It was all a lie, a deception, but right now, right here, it was real. And he needed Jared to know. Jensen Campbell was in this, for the good times and the bad.

Slowly, Jared reached up and took Jensen’s hands. He interlaced their fingers. Then he pulled them up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to Jensen’s knuckles.

“Okay,” he said and the corners of his mouth pulled up in a full-dimpled smile.

 

 


	2. Epilogue: Task Force Secrets II

 

The task force was still working after everyone else had left the building. They were going through all the crime scene information, but so far they had no witnesses and the traffic cam footage had come up empty. Padalecki and his crew had been thorough, it seemed, and set this up carefully. Whitfield and Evans had come back fuming from their conversation with Padalecki. Jeff really shouldn’t have been surprised.

The room was still thick with frustration and Jeff couldn’t blame them. He’d just met Ackles that afternoon, which had gotten him zilch. He’d already been pretty sure that Padalecki would pull the trigger himself, but of course there was no fucking evidence.

Around eight, he ordered pizza for everyone. Afterward, he went out for a smoke. He had kicked the habit years ago, but every once in a while he just needed a cigarette.

“Anything new?” he asked when he got back, but he didn't expect much. So he was surprised when Steen and Wester both stood.

“It’s not much,” Steen said, “but we have some interesting information.”

Steen and Wester worked the Vice department and both of them had cultivated good relationships with a few CIs who brought them reliable information.

“Let’s hear it.”

Wester cleared his throat. His appearance was incredibly unthreatening, given his slim build and pale, unassuming, almost boyishly cute face. Jeff supposed his face probably helped him gain the trust of the people working the streets. Steen had a definite no-nonsense vibe going for her but in a helpful motherly way. They made a good team.

“One of our CIs told an interesting story.” Wester said. “She sleeps with Lavon Blue, one of Andrew’s right-hand men.”

“Andrew of the Almighty Souls?” Rhodes asked.

Wester nodded. The Almighty Souls were one of the most powerful gangs in Chicago.

“Apparently this weekend, everyone was in a foul mood because they had a security breach last week. Someone broke into Andrew’s house.”

“His bedroom, actually,” Steen added. “He demoted the entire team on duty that night and had Lavon call in an outside expert to beef up security,”

“And who broke into Andrew’s house?” Whitfield asked, leaning forward over the table. “I thought the gangs run pretty tight security.”

“They do,” Steen said.

Jeff forced himself to sit still but he had a bad feeling. If Ackles had actively gotten involved...

Whitfield’s thoughts were headed in the same direction. “So it would take a master thief to break in there.”

Wester pointed his finger at Whitfield. “Bingo. Apparently it was a message from Padalecki’s people, demanding information about the guy who shot him. When Andrew called him, Padalecki ‘apologized’ and said thieves do business differently.”

“So our art thief is threatening gang members now. That’s quite the career jump,” Whitfield said.

Jeff interlaced his fingers. He wanted to throttle Ackles. What the hell had he been thinking?

“How did Andrew react?” Rhodes asked.

“What could he say?” Wester snorted. “He can’t retaliate against Padalecki without starting a war, so apparently he made a big show out of it, saying a loved one’s concern is to be respected or some bullshit.”

“We just thought it was interesting, how heavily involved Campbell is. He’s definitely more than arm candy.”

Whitfield turned to Jeff, face hard. “It’s time to do something about that.”

Jeff nodded. Whitfield didn’t know how right he was. “There’s an agent in New York’s white collar division who’s been eying Campbell for a while now. I’ve kept him out of our business because I didn’t want him to mess anything up, but I think it’s time we work with him.”

“You want to bring him in?” Alona asked, the first thing she’d said since the meeting had begun.

Jeff remembered their conversation about Ackles from a few months back, how she’d wanted to pull him out. She had probably drawn the same conclusions from Ackles breaking into gang members’ houses that Jeff had: Ackles was in too deep and it was time to pull him out.

If Jeff’s idea worked out, it would be over. If not, then he might have to leave Ackles where he was. He didn’t like it, and Alona would chew his head off for it, but without Ackles, they had nothing. And if this episode had proven anything, it was that Padalecki intended to hold on to his power. Long live the King.

“I don’t want to invite DeKay here and let him do his own investigation, but I think it’s a good idea if we meet with him. Whitfield, you and Evans want to take point on that?”

Whitfield nodded. “I’ll keep you in the loop. We’ll figure something out.”

“Alight,” Jeff said, “dismissed. Everyone go home. Get some sleep. We’re meeting here again at eight sharp.” There was some muttering around the table. “I’m sorry, but if we want to stay on top of this, we have to work the weekend.”

Everyone nodded, then slowly filed out of the room. Everyone except Alona.

“Jeff, we need to pull him out. He’s gone too far.”

“If we set this up right, it’ll be over as soon as we put something together with DeKay.”

“Unless he rats us out.”

“He won’t.”

Alona snorted derisively. “He was going after the guy who took a shot at his boyfriend, while I tried to reach him and he blew me off, by the way. Now, I thought he couldn’t leave Padalecki’s bedside without raising suspicion, but if he had time to terrorize gang leaders, then he sure as shit could have taken a phone call. But he was too busy avenging his boyfriend. He’s going too far.”

Jeff dragged a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I fucking know that?” He’d really thought Ackles would keep his feelings under control. “But I still don’t think he’s gonna turn.”

“How?” Alona threw her hands up. “ _How_ can you still trust him?”

“One: It’s too dangerous. He might have to come clean and there’s no telling what Padalecki would do with him. And two: Ackles is not a quitter. You’ve read his psyche profile. No matter what he’s feeling, he’s gonna see this through. If only to protect his moral superiority.”

“And what if that’s compromised? He threatened gang leaders, Jeff!”

“He can still justify that as selling his cover. He threatened other criminals.”

“And took away our opportunity to do something about it.”

Jeff leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. “He actually wasn’t wrong. We never would have caught Padalecki executing Shelby. As for O’Leary, we never would’ve gotten the drop on Padalecki. They watched him the entire week, Padalecki would have spotted our surveillance team immediately.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side.” Alona slammed a hand on the table. “It’s been two years, Jeff! Two fucking years and we have nothing to show for it! Tyler died for nothing!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Jeff bit out. “But we both knew this would be a long game. We’re playing with a stacked board here. We’re already pushing it with Ackles, but we’ll always be a step behind Padalecki, scrambling for warrants, adhering to procedures, and watching chains of evidence.”

“And the task force is getting us nowhere,” Alona said bitterly.

“Well, this time I think we actually have a pretty good shot.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll have to find another way,” Jeff said grimly.

“We could just kill him and disappear his body.” Alona sounded like she was only half-joking. “My parents have a boat in Florida. The gators would take care of him.”

Jeff huffed out a laugh. “Let’s try this op before we contemplate first-degree murder.”

“Fine,” Alona said. “But we can’t tell Ackles.”

“Agreed,” Jeff said surprised. “But I thought you wanted to clue him in.”

She shook his head. “Not anymore. We need to set Campbell up to break in somewhere and do a job, so we can tip off Agent DeKay. We’re not telling him the play, because I don’t care what that psyche profile says, I’m not sure Ackles isn’t playing us.”

“He’s not a quitter.”

“Still,” Alona said, “he’s in love with him, Jeff.”

Jeff snorted derisively. “Yeah, our great plan was maybe not so great.”

Alona let out a harsh laugh. “In our defense, who would imagine that one of our agents could fall in love with a criminal?”

“Maybe it’s some twisted form of Stockholm syndrome.” Jeff shook his head. “In any case, I still don’t think he’d ever actively betray us. But either way, he’s gonna sell it better if he doesn’t know. And maybe we can shake him out of it. We’re not telling him.”

Alona closed her laptop with more force than usual. “I’ve found a few guys we could apply pressure on. There’s one guy on the L.A. office’s radar that I’m really liking. I’m going to set it up, but you’ll need to flex your Assistant Director muscles to get them to agree to our little play.”

“Will do.”

Alona nodded, grabbed the rest of the pizza, and then left. Jeff was left alone in the room.

He went over to their ‘current surveillance’ board. Rhodes had started the tradition of hanging the latest surveillance shots of Padalecki and his crew up there. This week, most of them showed Murray, Collins, or Rosenbaum, all with dark expressions on their faces, hurrying somewhere. There was only one of Padalecki still up there, from two weeks ago when he and Ackles had taken the dogs to a park. Padalecki had his arm around Ackles’ shoulders, bent down to say something in his ear. Ackles was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and he leaned into Padalecki’s body with casual intimacy.

For a moment, Jeff debated calling Jim. Then he discarded the idea. Jim would pull Ackles out, Jeff was sure of that. If they arrested Ackles and caught Padalecki trying to get him out, the whole debate would be a moot point anyway. And since Jeff had no desire to have his decisions and methods in this case dragged to light and evaluated, Ackles’ conduct would never have to be investigated. Officially, he wasn’t a part of this investigation anyway, and Jeff could count on Alona to keep her mouth shut. They’d crossed too many lines already for this investigation to be aboveboard, so leaving a compromised agent in the field was only one of many of their transgressions. Not that any of it had paid off so far.

Padalecki was too well connected, too rich, too powerful. Jeff turned to look at their other board, the possible connections one. Criminals, business people, politicians, high society members. Padalecki had all of them on their side. Some he schmoozed, some he bribed, and some he threatened. They still hadn’t cracked his net of spies. Jeff was sure Padalecki got a lot of info from the street, especially from the working women, but if there was any group it was impossible to get info out of, it was the prostitutes.

Jeff stared at the board and wondered if they were too late. His eyes were drawn back to the picture of Padalecki and Ackles. There was a tenderness in his possessive grip. Padalecki’s business was squeaky clean, his people loyal to a fault, and there was nothing they could make stick. He was as meticulous as he was ruthless. But he was in love with Campbell. If the Heyerdahl episode had taught them anything, it was that Padalecki would do anything in his power to save Campbell.

Jeff pocketed his phone and shut the light off. They would just have to make this one work.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can come find me on tumblr [here.](http://ashtray-thief.tumblr.com/) My ask box is always open.


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